Third Eye Squeezing in a Japanese Garden


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I am in a strange place. Everyone is very hippyish and wears rainbow colours. I buy multicoloured clothes and grow my hair long and dye it a rainbow of colours. I seem to fit in. But I don’t really know anyone here yet, just a few nodding acquaintances from a party. I am going through some blue doors. People are gathered near them discussing where to get a drink. They suggest a place called The Waterwheel. I tell them I only drink water now.
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I squeeze through the blue door and into a strange glass building with many interesting levels and staircases. I think “Whoever designed this was a retard” as I try to figure out how to go down a level. The spaces look great, but are not designed with humans in mind.
David Salas has moved to this strange place, with its ornate Japanese architecture and strange customs and ornamental gardens. I always get lost on my way to his place.
I have gone in the wrong direction. The path ahead is blocked by a line of ornately engraved robotic jackals. As I walk towards them they bark and look ferocious, but once I get past the first one they transform into silvery engraved robotic lurchers with no eyes, vying for my attention. There’s a pecking order and I have to give the top dog his fair share of attention.
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There’s a gate at the end of the path, so I turn round and head back. The robodogs follow until I leave their territory. I give them a final fuss as I leave.
I make it David’s only after negotiating the strange network of oriental gardens. There are no fences or clear borders, just a subtle change of design between public and private spaces that must be carefully negotiated as one travels, so as to avoid causing offence.

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At David’s place we have to be quiet. He has had complaints about noise. This seems ironic given the large group of drunken teenagers outside his place.
The building becomes a school. Ian is the caretaker. He recognises me despite my change of appearance. I am looking for somewhere to eat my lunch and write on my iPad. I had been outside, but it started to rain.
I pass through many hallways. In one large hall, teachers are preparing for a parents evening. Art is glued to the floor, and a space for a sign language interpreter is being constructed from papier-mâché. It will be a smooth background with no distractions to make understanding easier.
I am staying at someone’s house while I am teaching. Outside I hear parents encouraging kids to make sure everyone’s included in their games. I realise I should leave my jacket and bag with my ipad and other stuff here, not out in the rain like I had been doing.
I look in the mirror and realise how untidy my beard is. It detracts from my beautiful boyish face framed with rainbow hair and clothes. I cut and shave off my beard. I notice underneath my skin a spot on my chin. I squeeze it but it only grows, moving across my skin magnifying many similar eye like spots on my skin. I squeeze but it won’t explode. I pull the skin away around the spot and it shoots pus across the room.
Snowy, my dead dog, comes in, whining. I let him out into the garden as I continue to get ready.
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